


The Tumblr drabbles

by KaelsMiscellany



Category: Haven (TV), Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Tags aren't SW indicative ATM, AU, Alternate Universe - Human, Artist AU, Babies, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Multi, Tumblr fills, except the last one)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 16,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2030040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various drabble fills done on my Tumblr, now on AO3! Individual summaries inside.</p><p>(Shows/pairings in chapter titles)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. TW, Pydia, baby

**Author's Note:**

> For [screamin-towards-Apotheosis](http://screaming-towards-apotheosis.tumblr.com/) who asked: Here have a Pydia prompt! Soft, fierce, daughter

A familiar wail from the room next door woke him, with a groan he rolled out of bed and stood. Lydia slept like the dead -heh- so it always fell to him to look after their daughter at night.

With long familiar movement he scooped her up and gently started bouncing her. “Shhh, shhh dear. Don’t want to wake mama.” Talia’s wail subsided into whimpers. “You hungry or just want a shoulder?” A sniff had told him that she didn’t need her diaper changed; at least he’d dodged that bullet with Malia -though technically he’d dodged them all-.

After a few more bounces her whimpers turned into happy baby sounds and a smile twitched at his lips. “Six months and you’re already taking after your mother,” he’d long since lost track of how many times Lydia had fallen asleep curled up in his lap or next to him.

For a few moments he mentally debated on whether or not to just bring Talia back into his and Lydia’s room, but he knew Lydia would harangue him in the morning over it. Giving a soft sigh he laid Talia back in her crib, tucking her minky blanket around her.

Eventually she settled again and he brushed some of her fiery hair. “Oh sweetheart, I’ll destroy the world if you want me to.” He’d do the same for Lydia if she asked him to.

They’d done it for him when he needed it most, it’s only fair he return the favor.


	2. TW, Pydia, domestic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [charloedrama](http://charloedrama.tumblr.com/) said: Pydia, domestic fluff "But of course..."

Lydia comes home to find Peter humming along to the Beatles and cooking. A smile blooms on her face despite the bad day she had. Slipping off her heels, she slid onto one of the bar-stools letting her feet dangle. “any special occasion?”

He sets his spoon down and sidles over to her giving her a wonderful welcome home kiss. “A little bird may have told me about what happened today.”

A huff escapes her, Stiles is such a pack busy-body. “Really? And did that little bird exaggerate at all?”

Peter laughs as he returns to stirring the pot, the savory smelling vapor coming from it making her mouth water. “But of course, this is Stiles we’re talking about. There was more truth in his story though, so dinner, a little wine, maybe a foot rub.”

She gives an ecstatic sigh at that thought, “you keep talking like that and you’ll turn me into goo.”

"Well then…"


	3. TW, Pydia, better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [banoradumbapple](http://banoradumbapple.tumblr.com/) said: If you still want some three-word lydia prompts, here's one: Pydia, porn/smut, prompt: "Am I better?"

"Am I better?"

Lydia yanks his hair for such a vague question, better than who? Than what?

Peter pauses in his work, gently mouthing at her scars teeth scraping just enough to be pleasure-pain, and gives a smile that’s both boyish and knife sharp. She refuses to answer the question, both spoken and in his eyes, she’s already playing into his hand enough as it is.

He pouts, but resumes his work; moving deliciously lower, teeth leaving little furrows of blood on her belly. When he reaches her cunt she doesn’t get any warning besides a brief chuckle that vibrates through her, she arches and moans as his tongue sinks in wiggling and twisting.

Another moan escapes her when he finally lavishes her clit with attention; she eagerly arches into it, feeling the responding twitch of his hips with the heels of her feet.

While she loves his enjoyment of foreplay, he promised her sex today and she won’t settle for anything less than actual penetration. She yanks on his hair, “Peeettteeer. Come on!”

His huff of amusement tickles. “Pushy.”

Now she’s the one being amused. “You love it, now shut up and fuck me.”

He gives her a last slurping lick before finally moving up to cage her with his body. His eyes look straight into hers and she shivers at the intensity. Then she’s closing her eyes and arching up into him as he sinks in, a tiny sigh escapes her.

"Am I the best?"


	4. TW, Pydia, never lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [haleinskis](http://haleinskis.tumblr.com/) said: maybe like a confrontation between lydia and peter, something AU-ish, "i never lied" ?
> 
> Slight AU for “De-Void”.

At least he’s gentle pulling her aside, though she can still feel Scott’s worried gaze on her. Nervously she licks the blood from her lips, notices right away how Peter’s gaze zeros in. She holds back her shiver —fear excitement, doesn’t matter— and looks him in the eye.

"Lydia," his tone is warning and praise all in one. "I upheld my part of the bargain."

Her eyes narrow, “You didn’t say it would be like that.” Not reliving the worst night of her life.

His own flat gaze dares her to protest further. “I said it wouldn’t be easy, I didn’t lie.”

She exhales, forcing anger to leave with breath, it’s no use against him. “Fine.” He leans down a little, but she still has to rise onto her toes to reach his ear. “Malia.” And she feels the Universe click onto a new path, for better or worse.


	5. TW, Pydia, Cicurate-verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [littlenorthernsparrow](http://littlenorthernsparrow.tumblr.com/) asked for Pydia: cicurate verse, Lydia thinking about college.

Lydia fidgets, her nails tapping restless rhythms against her keyboard as she stares at her laptop screen, staring at MIT's admissions page. With a sigh she forces her hands to stop by raising them up and rubbing the heels of her palms against her eyes in an attempt to relieve some of her headache. She hadn't thought applying to a college would be this difficult a decision.

Before, well. . . _everything_ , she'd planned on applying to MIT and Cambridge, knowing she wouldn't have problems getting into either; the only tough decision being which one she would actually go to. And now she doesn't even want to consider Cambridge, she doesn't think she could deal with that much distance.

Another sigh escapes her and she leans back in her chair to stare at the ceiling. _What the hell is she going to do?_

Somewhere downstairs a crash sounds an amused huff escapes her, apparently she's going to investigate what happened. Standing up she leaves her office and goes halfway down the stairs, leaning over the bannister she speaks down. “What was that?”

About a million variations of 'nothing' in nine childish voices come back, followed by the more adult answers of: 'kids' from Malia –hadn't that been the shock of the century for her and Peter to discover he was already a father– and 'we've got it Lydia' from Jackson; she didn't know whether to be amused, confused, or weirded out that Jackson and Malia were dating.

Regardless she didn't trust any of them and finished going down the stairs and headed towards where she thought the voices had come from, despite being Alpha for six years she still has trouble feeling the bonds between herself and the pack. Sometimes Peter tells her her she just needs to be patient, other times he says she might not develop them at all. Was it too much to ask for straight, concrete answers? 

She'd guessed right though, the library has everyone surrounding a heavy oak bookcase trying to lift it. Standing in the doorway she crosses her arms and glares at the supposed adults. “Really? Do I even want to know _how_ this happened?”

Nine children ranging in age from nine –Stiles and Derek's adopted oldest– to toddling two –her and Peter's second– had the decency to look embarrassed. Then again Malia looks embarrassed too, Jackson is Jackson. “We've got it handled Lyds, Sam got overeager.”

The aforementioned nine year old lets out a growl of disagreement, but before some giant argument can break out she raises a hand. “Overeager is eating until you get sick Jackson, and honestly I don't care who did what or why, I just want it cleaned up, then everyone needs to be out of the house.” Her headache starts growing.

Josh wobbles over to her and waves chubby arms. “Mama.” With a little sigh she scoops him up.

“Fine. Malia you want to take the kids out?” Jackson manages to shift the bookcase a little.

Malia's expression turns stricken, even though she's been re-adjusting to being human for three years she still seems anxious around kids, but she nods. “Come on little beasts.”

“Can we got running mom?” Talia –Peter had surprised her when he insisted their daughter be named after his sister– looked excited by her own suggestion; the other kinds clamber in agreement, except Josh who seems content to cling to her.

Her free hands rises up to rub the bridge of her nose. “If Malia's willing, sure. But decide outside and stay close to her.” Talia might not remember getting snatched by faeries when she's three but Lydia does.

All the kids start shouting, those able to shift partial, as they race out; Jackson snags Sam before he leaves. Malia follows at a more sedate pace, brushing against Lydia in a comforting manner. Shortly the only sound is Sam's grumbling complaints.

“You can join them once we've got the bookcase done.” Jackson ruffles the boy's hair before walking to her and hugging her and Josh. “You okay?” His hand brushes her neck, leeching some of her pain.

“No,” she mutters into his shoulder. “But it's stuff I need to talk over with Peter first.”

He squeezes for a second before letting her go. “I'll make you tea when I”m done here.”

She rolls her eyes. “Alright worry wart.” She has to admit this isn't the relationship she expected to have them to have back when they were still in school. Hoisting Josh a little higher she manages a smile. “But thanks.”

“Let's go sweetie,” she walks out and heads back upstairs. “You want a nap, or playtime?”

“Play!” Of course.

Back in her study she puts Josh in his playpen; he picks up a wooden block and starts gnawing on it. She's going to have to toss it tomorrow, otherwise he's liable to get splinters. Werewolf babies go through a disturbingly amount of toys.

Sitting down she wakes up her laptop and stares once more at her computer screen. The admissions page still sits there, just waiting for any sort of action. Instead she opens a new tab and loads up Pandora and lets it run her default station, just as much for Josh as for herself.

Out of the corner of her eye she watches Josh to make sure he doesn't do anything to dangerous, before she'd had werewolf children of her own she hadn't believed a single story Derek or Peter would tell about their respective childhoods.

A knock on the door pulls her out of her train of thought, looking up she sees Jackson carrying a tray with the whole nine yards of tea accessories, and it doesn't escape her notice that there are two cups on said tray. Accepting her cup she arches an eyebrow. “Is there something specific you wanted to talk about or is it just general moaning?” She's had to get herself in the habit of censoring herself again now that Josh is starting to talk.

Jackson huffs, rolls his eyes, and grabbing his mug takes a seat on the floor; instantly Josh tries to reach through the play pen netting to try and attack Jackson's feet a few inches away. “I'm thinking about proposing to Malia.”

Which is a big fucking deal because, even after three years, Malia's still struggling with her humanity and learning things in general. Moving her mug from both hands to one hand she takes a sip, enjoying the smokey ceylon tea, and with her newly freed hand reaches out and absentmindedly plays with Jackson's hair. “You think she's ready for that?”

He shrugs as he leans into her touch. “Hell if I know Lydia, but if I don't ask I'll never know.”

She has no real answer for that and remains silent, wondering how things will change if she basically leaves for four years –maybe less if she takes summer classes too–, MIT has online classes but she knows they're not the same. What bits of pack life will she miss by being away, how will the dynamics change?

In contemplative silence they drink their teas, they're almost to the end of the pot when Jackson perks up. “Peter's home.” He stands and scoops up the tray. “I'll just deal with this and then hunt down Malia.”

Lydia can't help but roll her eyes at the blatant catering, “thanks.”

At least Jackson smiles before heading out. Lydia watches Josh start gnawing, thank God she stopped breastfeeding before his fangs grew in, a stuffed sheep Erica had gotten as a gag gift; a snort of amusement escapes her when he makes a face and starts trying to spit out stuffing and fleece. Tearing her focus away she goes back to her laptop and brings up MIT's admissions page again. She might as well bite the bullet.

Even with her nerves she still can't help but feel. . .content as she listens to Peter moving around downstairs, it strikes an odd balance in her when she hears him start moving up the stairs.

Unlike Jackson he doesn't knock when he comes in, his warm hands rest on her shoulders and shortly thereafter his thumbs being rubbing her neck. He lays a kiss on the crown of her head. “Good afternoon dear moon. Did you manage to keep yourself entertain while I was away?” His playful tone surprises her, he's usually not like this after going into Beacon Hills on business.

“No Peter, I fair managed to keep myself awake I got so bored.” She turns her chair so they can have a proper kiss, even though it means his massage ends.

When he pulls away he chuckles. “At least your lies are amusing.” He lays another quick kiss to her lips. “Anything terribly interesting happen?”

Lydia shrugs, “Jackson said he might propose to Malia.”

A full laugh erupts from Peter. “No wonder the pup smelled nervous when he passed me. And I vaguely dread thinking of him as a son-in-law.” Lydia finds herself laughing at that, because it's kind of a hilarious thought.

“Anything else?”

Even thought it's highly awkward Lydia turns her head a little and buries it in Peter's shoulder, enough that she feels them heave with his sigh. “Lydia. . .”

“I want to go to college.” It might not feel like a weight's been lifted from her shoulders, but it's out there now and not just inside her.

She doesn't resist when Peter scoops her up, and soon she finds herself in his lap as he sits on the floor across from Josh, who looks like he's fallen asleep half on top of the half-mauled stuffed sheep. “I fail to see why that's worrying you Lydia.” Peter lays a kiss on her cheek. “You're a fantastically intelligent woman, and if you want to go then I see no reason why you shouldn't.”

The sound Lydia makes is somewhere between a sigh and a huff of laughter. “Peter if I do this I wouldn't be going to the community college, or Stanford, or any place like that. I'd be at MIT, on the other side of the country.” She hasn't been anywhere farther than a few miles from anyone in the pack since high school, and it's a little terrifying to think about being thousands of miles away especially since some of that pack is now her own children.

One of Peter's hands returns to her neck, gently rubbing and leeching tension and pain from her. “We can make it work if we have to love. You being happy is just as important as the well-being of the pack, and I think, over all, we can survive without you for a while.” A kiss on her temple. “Though I do hope you know there's no negotiating about coming home during breaks, you'll need them just as much as we will.”

Now it's only laughter that leaves her. “Really Peter? I wouldn't have guessed, not in a million years.”

His eyes flare red and he snaps his fangs at her in a mock-threating manner. “Are you making light of your alpha Mrs. Hale?”

With a smile she arches up and kisses him. “I would _never_ Mr. Hale.”


	6. TW, Pydia, confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [oltha-heri](http://oltha-heri.tumblr.com/) said: Since I saw the post in the Pydia tag: Lydia confronts Peter about why he used young!Peter.

"Have fun!" The woman leers as she unceremoniously tosses Lydia into the cage. She winces as her shoulder slams into the concrete floor, but doesn't give the woman the satisfaction of a grunt or any other sign of pain. Hand help her up, but when she sees who it is she quickly scrambles away from him. "Stay away!"

Peter holds his hands out in front of him, "I was just trying to help."

"Yeah, we'll you can go help someone else somewhere else."

He has the gall to roll his eyes. "You and I are going to be stuck in here for a while, the least we could do is be civil towards each other."

"Says the man who threatened and abused me."

Peter huffed. "Would you have done what I wanted if I had asked nicely?"

She gave him a saccharine smile,"well we'll never know now will we?"

She watches warily as Peter slumps down into the corner farthest from her. "If I apologized would you believe me?"

Her eyes narrow. "It depends."

"On what?"

Lydia straightens, tilting her chin up a bit; not to bare her neck, but to assert herself. "On whether or not you actually mean it."

He sighs and straighten too. "And how do I prove that I do?"

"I have some questions. And ff I find out you lied to me I will kill you myself."

Peter raises an eyebrow. "Have I ever lied to you?"

She already knows the answer is 'no', say what she would at least he'd never done that. "Did you know about me and my 'immunity' before you attacked me, or was it just happenstance?"

"I had a hunch, your scent is unusual, even among humans. But I had only caught whiffs of it during our chance encounters. That was why I followed you and the Argent girl to the mall, to get a better noseful if you will." He smiles. "And even then you exceeded my wildest expectations, how lucky was I to find the one person who could break the paradigm of change or die? You survived, and it's been driving Derek mad ever since. Quite adorable really."

"Jackson survived too." She challenges.

"But that is because he is a boy pretending to be a man when he refuses to own up to his own needs. Going Kanima is different. And he is a wolf now, thanks to you."

"Why am I immune?"

He shrugs, and it's the most infuriating thing. "Your guess is as good as mine. Could be anything from luck of the genetic draw, to descendent of a long dead deity. I chose not to question the particulars, and just thank my lucky stars."

Part of her wants to strangle him for being so unhelpful. The logical part insists she move on to what is, to her at least, the most important question. "Why did you interact with me as your younger self?"

For the longest time she thinks he won't answer, but then he appears to steady himself and speaks. "I wanted you to know you didn't need to fear me, but I couldn't do that if I stayed myself. Being as I was. . .hurt, but it gave you the control you felt you needed, the control you never actually lost." He falls silent again.

She nearly replies, but holds herself back. Speaking now, she's sure, would mean she won't learn everything.

Eventually he starts up again. "And I felt that you would respond better romantically if I was closer to you in age."

This time she keeps her mouth shut because she'd look like a fish otherwise. When she finally gains control of herself she responds. "You thought I would like you better if you were a _teenager_?"

He doesn't meet her eyes and she decides not to mention the fact that she flirted with _Mr. Argent_. Age had never been a defining factor for her when looking for a partner. She'd just happened to settle of Jackson because he'd wanted her too. And look how that had turned out.

She won't deny that his younger self had been quite attractive, just the right mix of charm and biting intelligence that has always intrigued her. But from a purely physical standpoint she thinks she likes his older self more.

Lydia lies down and stretches as best she can, not missing the way his eyes follow her. She bites back a smile. "And how would you have gone about seducing me if you'd only had your older self, hmm? Just out of curiosity."

Something about him seems to _sharpen_ and the smile he gives her oozes charm and sexuality. "I don't think I would have had to do much. For such a complex girl I find you're quite easy to please."

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

In a blink he's above her, his hands on her wrists pinning her down. "Indeed."


	7. TW, Pydia, Teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: pydia - AU, where he is her teacher.

_Almost_ _done_ , she thinks as she walks into her history class. Her last semester and then she can get out of this idiotic town that offers no challenge, _finally_.

There's still a minute or two before the bell rings but she's surprised that Mrs. Murry isn't there yet.

When the bell rings the whole class starts whispering, everyone clearly wondering what the hell was going on.

Five minutes in the class looks like it's about to mutiny and up and leave. Which is when vice-principal Pierceson walks in with another man. The class quiets down. "I'm sorry to say that due to an extended leave of absence Mrs. Murry will not be teaching your class. Luckily Mr. Hale has agreed to step in and take her place."

The eyes of every student, her included, turn to Mr. Hale. Assessing and judging, trying to figure him out. Though if she stares a little longer at the broad sweep of his shoulders under his jacket, well she's the only one who knows.

Mr. Pierceson leaves, and the class fills with the subtle frisson of teens about to test their new authority figure.

And Mr. Hale side-steps it all by sitting on the desk and smiling. Lydia finds herself shifting in her seat at that smile, with just a little more teeth than most, and, hopefully, inconspicuously crossing her legs.

"Now I'm sure you all expected this class to be easy, more useless information to be memorized only to be forgotten when summer comes." His smile turns a little evil. "Well you should throw that expectation out the window."

The class groans.

"Oh don't worry, I'm not planning to murder you with work. But I _will_ challenge you, force you to think in ways you're not used to. You're more than welcome to switch classes if you don't think you can keep up."

He reaches behind him for the roll sheet. "Adams, Michelle."

When he reaches 'Martin, Lydia' she gives him her own too toothy smile. "Here."

Bright blue eyes linger for a moment before moving on to the next student.

She's sure she'll have him wrapped around her finger soon enough.


	8. TW, Pydia, scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Lydia gets turned on when Peter touches her scars.

His hands brush her sides and she gasps. They vanish and his worried face appears above hers. "Are you alright?"

Part of her wants to laugh at his concern, because _of course_ she's alright, but she holds that part back. "Yes!"

He raises an eyebrow but ducks down again to continue his line of hickeys and bites. But best of all his hands resume their wanderings, one grabs her hip and pushes down to stop her squirming. The other strokes her stomach and for a brief moment a claw catches against her scars and she _mewls_. He stops again, but doesn't move this time.

And very deliberately the hand on her stomach moves right and oh so gently, _presses_ into her scars. She tries to buck up, but the hand on her hip prevents her. "Why, Miss Martin, do you like that?"

She hates it when this happens, when he finds out something new about her and decides to have fun with it. Then again she hadn't even considered this herself. "And what if I do?" She challenges back, though her voice is a bit too breathy to truly be taken seriously.

She can feel his grin against the skin of her shoulder. And doesn't know if she should feel dread, or excitement.

Now that he knows about it, he won't stop doing it. Light, teasing brushes at the store. If she sits between his legs at pack meetings her right side is met with a firm, steady pressure from his thigh; which is the worst because everyone can smell it, well except for Stiles. She's taken to sitting on his left side on couches and the like because being pressed against his side is better than his hand pressing, stroking, and prodding.

She much prefers it when they're not in public and she can actually do something about the smug look on his face that comes when he smells her arousal.

And Lydia has to wonder how messed up is it that the monster who gave her those scars can turn her on just by touching them.


	9. TW, Marrish, feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [lostmemoria](http://lostmemoria.tumblr.com/): Hi! :) I saw you’re accepting prompts and was wondering if you can do marrish with this prompt?: BEING ON THE BRINK OF ADMITTING THEIR FEELINGS FOR EACH OTHER BUT THEN GETTING INTERRUPTED (sorry caps i just copy pasted lol)

"Lydia?"

She looks up from her coursework, college was actually a bit of a challenge, brushing her hair out of her face to see Jordan standing behind the other chair at the table; he’s shifting his weight so often from one let to the next she’s afraid he might start sloshing his coffee. “Yes?”

He doesn’t look all that different from the last time she saw him two and a half months ago, but something  _is_  different about him. “Can I sit?”

Automatically she starts closing and stacking textbooks. “Yeah. Sorry about the mess.”

"No problem," he gives her a twitch of a smile and sits.

Determined  _not_  to do any work, Thanksgiving break is barely enough time do to three papers, she puts her pens and pencil away. “So how have you been? How’s the department?”

"It’s good, I’m good." His ears turn pink and he quickly raises his mug to his mouth. "You?"

"School’s hard but fun, I’m glad I decided to MIT." Sure it put her out of touch with everyone on the day to day basis but well, she had to do something for herself.

He sips his coffee. “Cool, I’m uh glad that’s going well for you.” He sips again, grimaces. “Look there’s something I want to tell you.” He puts his mug down hands rapidly turning it around and around. “And I was gonna do it before you left but then there was that whole merrow thing and…”

Lydia finds herself growing annoyed, because those merrow were the  _worst,_ and pleased-embarrassed, because Jordan actually going to? She’s fairly certain she’s blushing now too. _  
_

All summer they’d been dancing around each other, but because Beacon Hills was Beacon Hills not much had come of it; crisis after crisis erupting so often Lydia was surprised she never got whiplash.

But two and a half months of breathing room has made her realize that, yes, maybe she does like him, in ways she never really liked any of her previous boyfriends – _” _Remember what it feels like. All of those times in school when you see him standing down the hall and you cannot breathe until you’re with him.”__  She thinks she does now.

So she gives him an encouraging look. “And?”

He and his mug still. “And I think I–”

Vincent Price’s cackle erupts from her phone. They both jump at the sound, quickly followed by a growl from her because  _seriously Stiles I’ve barely been in Beacon Hills for less than 24 hours and you’ve already created a big enough problem that you’re calling me?_ _  
_

The exasperated look they share warms her chest though. 


	10. TW, Marrish, vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [verajomoholic](http://verajomoholic.tumblr.com/) asked: Marrish planing their first vacation together but can't decide cause Lydia wants beach and sunbathing and Jordan hiking or camping or something a little adventurous like that?:D

"What’s wrong with Oregon?" Jordan slides onto the couch next to her.

"You mean besides the depressing beaches only surpassed the further up the west coast you get? Nothing." She arches an eyebrow as she scoots up against his side. His arm curls around her shoulders.

He gives a affectionate sigh. “But the Steens are gorgeous–” She gives him a look, which earns her a face in return. “Alright, your turn to suggest then.”

"Hawai’i."

"In July? The only thing worse than the humidity would be the tourists." His shoulders slump. "And anyways the Haiku stairs are an illegal hike now."

Lydia is  _not_ going to ask and just be glad it’s illegal. “Your turn then.”

His fingers tap a little beat on her bicep as he thinks. “Greece? Lots of beaches, all the history, and I’ve always wanted to hike Olympus.”

"And you’re ragging on me for picking Hawai’i? It gets even hotter in Greece." Though the thought of going to see all those historical landmarks, even in a giant crowd of tourists, is an intriguing one.

Jordan laughs. “Give me dry heat over humid any day. And don’t think I haven’t notice you didn’t turn it out of hand.” He waggles his eyebrows.

She quickly responds with a playful shove. “Hush you.”

He moves with the shove flopping back to take up the rest of the couch and dragging her along with him. He grins up at her from her new position on top of him. “Now I’ve got you!”

"Really?" She rolls her eyes. But since she’s more amused than anything else she dips down and kisses him. "And while I think we should discuss other possibilities, we can put Greece on the list."

"You mean start the list right? Because I’m pretty sure this is the first one we’ve agreed on."

This time she shoves him  _off_  the couch. But he gets the last laugh when he pulls her along once more.


	11. TW, Pydia, shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [screaming-towards-Apotheosis](http://screaming-towards-apotheosis.tumblr.com/) who asked: Pydia, people watching and judging bad shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, Aromantic!Lydia?
> 
> Which is definitely new for me.

She and Peter sit in one of the many cafe’s that seem to litter Barcelona enjoying their drinks and watching people pass to and fro. She lounges back in her chair eyes critical behind her sunglasses. A woman walks past, talking rapidly in Catalan and Lydia’s eyes zero in on her feet. “Oh dear God,  _pleather_? Sweetheart your suit deserves a lot better than that.”

Across from her Peter chuckles. “Shall we stop her and tell her we’re the fashion police?” He arches an eyebrow and almost too casually takes a sip from his coffee. The too casualness makes sense when a second later he catches one of her legs with his own.

"Not when I’m apparently trapped." She arches an accusing eyebrow of her own. If he goes any further down that path she’s going to have to make a note of it since footsie isn’t in the list, not even in the sexy way.

He takes another sip of his coffee. “True, though for a moment there you did look like you were going to jump out of your seat and rip those abominations off her feet.” His legs don’t do anything more, and while she doesn’t relax, not that she was tense in the first place, she does just stop thinking about it.

She smiles, “please, I’d be doing her, and the world, a favor.” Delicately she picks up her own neglected chai, turning the mug this way and that, watching the now deflated foam swirl around. Bringing it up to her mouth she takes a sip, glad it hasn’t gone too cold. As she lowers her mug her attention turns back to the crowd.

"And her?" Peter’s good at pointing things and people out in such a way that you know exactly what he’s gesturing at.

Lydia gives the woman a critical eye. “Her dress’ tailored, well too.” She has a brief and fleeting hope the woman’ll move closer, but no such luck. “And I think I want her boots.” Her attention goes back to Peter. “If we finds those boots in a shop you’re buying them for me.”

Which gets another raised eyebrow out of Peter. “Oh really?”

"Mmmhmmm. If you do I might get you that jacket you’ve been drooling over." They’ve been here three days, and in that time they’ve ‘passed’ the shop that contains said jacket at least nine times, not counting the initial first ‘meeting’. Peter can be so obvious with his attentions some times.

"Depending on the cost of the shoes that might not be a fair exchange." He finishes off his coffee and shuffles it and it’s saucer off to the side.

Lydia waves a hand, “well if so we can work out the difference later.” For her it’s tantamount that all things be equal. “But yes, boots for jacket.” She sets her own mug down, extracts her leg and sits. “Now come on I actually want to get to the Marès Museum today.”

He gets up and offers her his arm. She looks at it for a few moments but doesn’t take it and just starts walking. Behind her Peter huffs and easily catches up.


	12. TW, Marrish & Pydian, NSFW meme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For[Lydia'sDeputy](http://lydiasdeputy.tumblr.com/) who asked: I hope it's okay if I request two! (well you don't have to do both, its up to you) but Marrish + 11 (and maybeee that leads to 12? lol) and Pydian + either 4 or 5 :)) I know, I'm so indecisive when it comes to choosing prompts!

**Marrish… trying to turn the other on**

_Trust me_ , Jordan had said ten minutes ago.

Lydia snorts softly as she kneels on their bed, naked except for her sunny yellow underwear, hands resting demurely on her lap, and wearing a blindfold. _I'd trust you if you'd actually do something Jordan_ , and even though no one can see it she rolls her eyes affectionately.

Then again, when Jordan got it in his head to try something new he'd always take his sweet time over it, where she'd just rather him jump in head first.

Something tickles her back and she twitches.

The bed shifts as she feels Jordan climb on and the tickle returns, lower this time.

Her skin becomes hyper aware as she feels it move from her back around to the underside of her breast.

She promptly bursts into laughter as the sensation grows to be too much.

 

-

 

**Pydian… sexting**

Jordan is bored out of his mind with paperwork when his phone buzzes from a text. Pulling his phone out he checks his messages. Freezing a little at the picture Lydia just sent him and Peter: her in a dark green teddy with shiny golden accents, _you like? Y/N?_

A message from Peter quickly appears beneath it. _Careful sweetheart, keep this up and I'm liable to hunt you down and fuck you into a wall._

 _Maybe that's the point bad boy ;)_ , Lydia replies.

 _Very_ quickly Jordan turns off his screen, then with more force than really necessary sets his phone on his desk. It's almost buzzing constantly now from the slew of messages he's getting.

With a groan, and more force than really necessary, he thunks his forehead against his desk.


	13. TW, Pydia & Pedan, hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [rantsofafangirl](http://rantsofafangirl.tumblr.com/) who skyped me number 36 “I wish I could hate you.”
> 
> Pydia/Pedan.
> 
> Minor TW for Eichen House.

Lydia stared at him from the other sideof observation glass. Peter’s both amazed and pleased that she somehow managed to talk her way past McCall’s ‘no visitors’ rule. Ever so slowly it’s been driving him mad, a fact he doesn’t think McCall even considered when he dumped him here; so Lydia’s nigh miraculous appearance is very much welcome.

Not that he’ll tell her that.

It doesn’t even bother him that she has yet to say anything, just stands in the middle of the visiting area and stares at him. The mere fact that she’s there is enough to patch together a least  _some_  of his fracturing mind.

He hears and sees her grip tighten on her purse straps; her red gloves a reminder of a much simpler time.

“I don’t hate you,” her words are as sharp and rapid as gunfire, and just as shocking. “I wish I could hate you. But I can’t.”

She doesn’t wait for him to respond, just turns and starts leaving. Though he doesn’t fail to notice how when she settles her purse on her shoulder a purple-blue flower just ‘happens’ to fall out.

He stares at that flower as he listens to the door close behind her.

Larkspur.

No, Lydia couldn’t hate him no matter how much she wanted to.

She knew him far too well.

-

The sound of the door opening hardly phases Peter, not since McCall and Stilinski started visiting on the regular to try and get info from him –something about cases of spontaneous combustion? Peter didn’t really care enough to pay all that much attention to them.

He stares up at the ceiling with it’s 57 tiles for a few seconds longer. “Three times in one week, you two must  _really_ be desperate.”

There’s no response, which gets him upright and facing the observation glass far faster than any of McCall’s entreaties to help them –why should he help the idealistic idiots who stuck him in here?

The larkspur Lydia left last week is long gone, the janitorial staff having quickly swept it up. But Peter still knows exactly where it fell, and standing in that same spot is one deputy Parrish.

Internally Peter smiles, seems McCall doesn’t have as much saying power as he’d like if  _two_ people have gotten in in as many weeks; another person for his mind to latch on to, seeking any scrap of sanity that isn’t the two idiots. Externally he crosses his arms and leans back against the wall. “Well, Well. The mystery man himself. What brings you to darken my metaphorical doorstep deputy?”

Parrish crosses his arms as well, though Peter’s not sure if it’s intentional or not. “I wanted to see how you were.”

This time Peter smiles externally. “Now deputy. I don’t even need to smell you to know that’s a lie.  _Nobody_  asks how the big bad’s doing after he’s been dealt with and locked away. You  _forget him_.” While he’s slowly driven insane from being cut off from the very things that define him; though perhaps true insanity would be a release of sorts.

The only thing that you can do with a feral werewolf, after all, is put him down.

His words get a snort out of Parrish. “Like anyone could forget you.”

Peter preens. “Regardless, most people don’t ask the ones they hate how they’re doing.”

Parrish doesn’t quite take a step back at that, but it’s close enough for Peter. “I don’t hate you, hating you’s too black and white.”

“How very zen of you,” Peter says to the 57 tiles on his ceiling.

“Look,” Parrish sighs. “Are you going to answer my question or not?”

In a flash Peter’s right in front of the glass, nearly pressing himself against it. “I don’t know, are you going to ask one?” It’s oh so petty, but right now petty is all he has.

Pale green eyes met his own straight on; not challenging him, but oh so very  _there_. “Why?”


	14. TW, Pydian, never

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for [caveofclaeya](http://caveofclaeya.tumblr.com/) who wanted Pydian: 9 “Don’t ever do that again!” and 28 “Marry me?”
> 
> Minor TW for blood.

A scream begins to build up in Lydia’s throat and she clamps her mouth closed, lips turning white from pressure.  _No, no, no, no._ _Please, not them!_

Breathing rapidly through her nose she runs into the preserve,  the scream isn’t the all encompassing thing that means death is imminent, but it’s close.

Still far away enough though that she’s convincing herself that she can save whomever it is, if it’s a friend. She couldn’t give two fucks about a foe.

The cliffs seem to just appear in front of her, and she barely manages to stop herself from running into them. Turning left she quickly comes upon the fight in question.

There’s a big giant snake practically dog-piled under the pack, but that pales in comparison to the tableau off to the side of the battle.

Jordan Parrish stands firm, gun aimed at the snake but not firing, expression as angry as she’s ever seen it. Behind him at his feet is Peter, prone; with a big giant snake fang in his shoulder.

At the sight she can’t hold back anymore and she wails.

Everyone flinches, even the snake. The pack scatters and rapid gunfire echoes in the clearing. With the snake dead Lydia rushes to Peter’s side. “No, no,” she moans. Hands wadding up the remains of Peter’s shirt to try and staunch the blood.

Steady hands stop her movements. “Lydia.” Jordan’s voice is soft. He lets go and she half-watches as he pulls out the small knife that now never leaves his side. “You can still hear me right?”

She nods, it’d been disturbing to find out that sometimes she got so lost in her powers that she lost control of her senses. “Yes,” her tone couldn’t be taken as anything other than shaky but she speaks.

“Good,” with the hand not holding the knife he takes her hands and wraps them around the fang. “When I say to pull it out alright?”

Another nod, feeling self-conscious of the whole pack watching them. Something like this should be so public. Her focus quickly returns to Jordan who takes the knife and thrusts it into the back of his arm, hissing in pain. “Now.”

Yanking out the fang makes Peter twitch, something she’s going to take as a good sign. Jordan quickly thrusts his bleeding arm over the wound, his blood dripping onto the wound. It sizzles a little.

Even after the deadpool had ended people had still come after Jordan, finding out why had made it even more frightening.

Dragon’s blood, it seemed, could cure-heal  _anything_.

Coupled with Peter’s werewolf healing the wound closes quickly. And after another tense minute he starts coughing hard, eyes slowly opening. Jordan helps Peter sit upright, the both of them taking her weight when she hugs Peter tightly.

“Don’t you fucking ever do that again!” She squeezes her eyes shut, a few tears slipping out.

Peter coughs again, but she can hear a smile in his weak voice. “Anything for you sweetheart. Certainly wasn’t fun on my end.”

Jordan’s other arm wraps around her and it feels wonderful to just be hugging the both of them, she loves them both too much to lose either of them. “No heroics, either of you.” She doesn’t even care if Scott overhears that instruction, she  _means_   _it_. “I want you both to stay  _alive_.”

“I see no problem in following that,” Peter murmurs into her hair. “What about you Jordan?”

A huff of laughter escapes Jordan. “I do my best.” Jordan lets go of them both and pulls away slightly. He closes his eyes and takes a few steadying breaths; her focus zeros in on his own wound, not that it’s there anymore.

Both of her men are alive and that’s all she can ask for right now.

“I meant to do this at a better time,” Jordan continues, surprising herself and Peter –who’s leaning against her still weak from the bloodloss. “But, well, things kind of just got thrown into perspective.” He shifts until he’s kneeling and reaches into a pocket, pulling out a slim box.

“And this isn’t the most romantic of settings,” pink dances across Jordan’s cheeks. “But I can make that up to you later.”

Someone, probably Stiles, makes loud gagging noises, before being shut up.

Jordan opens the box, in it are two silver rings in the shapes of ouroboros –the immortal dragon. Lydia’s mind stutters a little at the sight. “Peter Hale, Lydia Martin. Would you both marry me?”

The logical part of her kicks in before everything else:  _that’s technically illegal_. The rest of her tells the logical part to shut the fuck up.

Almost as one she and Peter move to embrace Jordan, nearly a reverse of before. “Yes, oh god yes.”

“Like I can ever say no to you Jordan,” Peter sounds a little embarrassed to be admitting that in front of people other than her and Jordan; but still he’s said it.

Lydia’s not sure, but she thinks Jordan might be crying too.


	15. TW, Marrish, proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [thefoxandthecoyote](http://thefoxandthecoyote.tumblr.com/) who asked for: Parrish proposing to Lydia in the worst way possible bc everything is going wrong prompt? :)

He’d meant for it to be romantic. Hell it’d started out romantic. Candlelight, good food, dressed to the nines. Lydia had looked like a goddess come to Earth and he’d felt so damn lucky.

And then Stiles called. Stiles.

Now here they are, in a cage, potentially about to get gnawed on by kelpies if Derek didn’t step up his act.

Lydia’s makeup is ruined but she still looks far too good to him. But that all kind of falls away in the face of death in ten or so minutes.

“Hey,” he wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her even closer. “I’ve got a question for you.”

She looks up at him, a little surprised, and potentially questioning his sanity. “What?”

Even through everything the ring box’d managed to survived unscathed, a little bit of luck in a shit night. He opens the box and leans in closer. “Will you marry me?” He whispers in his ear, hoping it’s enough.

She looks at him for a second, then to the silver ring with it’s sapphire stones, then to him again. “Oh Jordan,” her arms wrap around his shoulders. “Yes, yes, of course yes.”

He slips the ring onto her finger.

Which is about when kelpie number one goes flying into the wall next to them. So maybe they’re not going to die tonight after all.

 


	16. TW, Marrish & Pydian, gun & domestic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [Lydiasdeputy](http://lydiasdeputy.tumblr.com/) who asked: MARRISH + "Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" hehe and/or Pydian + something domestic! (like grocery shopping/or cooking together)

“Is that a gun in your pocket deputy, or are you just happy to see me?” Jordan doesn’t even need to see her face to know Lydia’s smiling.

Considering she was firmly tied her back to his front not ten minutes past, and the bad guy of the week -but hey at least it’s just a mortal- is waving his gun around making the sort of threats that would’ve sacred him just a year ago, she knows full well what it is. “Really? You’re flirting with me right now?”

You’d think his body would get the idea that now was _not_ the right time.

“Says the man who’s been popping a boner for about the last five minutes.“ She wiggles in a fashion hell-bent on torturing him and a soft grunt. “Try burning through the rope now.”

He does, and less than a minute later Mr. I-decided-to-hold-a-department-store-hostage is out cold.

Lydia walks towards him, hips swaying, and a smile full of amusement on her face. “Now lets see about that gun of yours?” Her voice is low and throaty.

All he can do is nod enthusiastically as she leads him to the dressing rooms.

-

Lydia bites her tongue to hold back her laughter as she watches Peter solemnly bend down so their daughter can place a daisy crown on his head; meaning he and Jordan match now. “There!” Bina proclaims loudly. “Now we can have our tea party.”

Her twin brother Tam excitedly starts ‘pouring’ their tea. “That’s yours papa,” he hands a cup and saucer to Peter. “And you daddy.” The next goes to a Jordan who’s clearly trying not to smile.

“Thank you, do we have any snacks?”

Bina makes a face at Jordan’s question. “Of course we do daddy!”

Lydia lets the happy babble of her daughter wash over her as she quietly tries to take out her phone -though she wonders if Peter can even hear her over the sounds of Bina’s chatter- and take a picture.

At the sound Peter’s head whips around and he narrows his eyes at her; it’s kind of ruined by the lop-sided daisy crown though.

“Papa!” Peter’s head jerks back to Tam, who’s frowning. “You need to pass the plate to Mr. Snuffles.”

The look on Peter’s face is the breaking point and Lydia bites her knuckle hard to keep in her laughter long enough to get somewhere more private.


	17. TW, Pydian, All!Human, shop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [Catvampcrazines](http://catvampcrazines.tumblr.com/) who asked for: Jordan owns a shop (plants would be neat but whatever you like). Peter and Lyd aren't together are regulars who have the hots for the owner. They usually come in at diff times, but this time they're both there. They can't each other checking him out.
> 
> (and the I asked for clarity for the last bit, because I was confused and she added: They catch each other checking him out, hee, and kind of nodding and agreeing. All giggity. *tears* One would be “his butt, yes?” “ohh, but his arms…” “oh no he just did that cute little thing” “yes agreed”. But it’s this communication through eye direction and raised brows and hand motions when Jordan isn’t looking. This is a lot of detail, but anyways, you get the jist. Gah, the cute.)

When Jordan’d first inherited this record store from his parents he thought it wasn’t going to be anything more than a money pit. After all, who bought records anymore, let alone CDs?

So hipsters may or may not have been a godsend for businesses like his. Though on the whole most of his customers were regular people and not just ones in skinny jeans and hornrim glasses, haughtily asking him if he’d heard of such and such an artist or band—as if he needed to pass some musical test to be a record store owner.

_ But _ , he thought as he rang up a 200 dollar record player, and about just as much in records,  _ they do bring in the most money _ . The kid in question gave him a nervous smile as he forked over 400 in cash. “Thanks man.”

Jordan smiled, “not a problem. Hope you enjoy your music. Uh, you want help?”

The kid stacked his records on top of the record player’s box then easily picked up both. “Nah, I got it.” Obviously, he thought with a swallow; gaze darting away from the show of strength.

A few seconds later the bell over his door ringed, letting him know he was alone. Well...alone-ish. Because back in the corner, rooting through the punk records, was one Peter Hale, a regular who pretty much always looked like he’d stepped right out of the 80s punk scene; worn dark jeans, boots that he barely had tied, and a coat that was covered in studs, spikes, and patches—though currently it was off, revealing a v-neck shirt and some  _ very  _ impressive arm ink—really the only thing that was missing was a mohawk.

Jordan bit his lip to keep from laughing at the thought of Peter sporting a mohawk.

He had no idea what Peter did for a living—though he had once see Peter outside the store wearing a  _ suit _ with just the barest hint of those arm tattoos peeking out of the cuffs and...Jordan was just grateful the other man hadn’t seen him—but he always came in at least once a week and bought a record or two.

The bell jingled again and Jordan happily tore his attention away from trying to  _ not _ lust over his customers, only to see another regular come in.

But unlike Peter, Lydia was a lot harder to pin down...in the music department. She was part of a group that frequently visited his shop, though their tastes were disparate enough to give you whiplash—ranging from Stiles who never seemed to listen to anything that didn’t come from a twenty mile radius around Beacon Hills, to Boyd who seemed to listen exclusively to Beyoncé and Nicki Minaj—but Lydia seemed to fit around from genre to genre depending on the day, season, and position of the stars in the sky.

“Hi Jordan,” she smiled at him as she walked up to the front counter. “What’s playing today?”

That was another thing, she always seemed more than happy to let him ramble on about his music choices. “Folk...rock...ish” He was in a weird mood when he made the day’s playlist. “But Lord Huron right now. They’re kind of the folk portion.” Though he’d classify Mumford & Sons as folk too—even if there were a billion people who would argue with him about that.

Her eyes closed slightly and she tilted her head, as if that would help her listen better. “I like it,” she says after a few seconds of silence.

“Uh, need help finding anything?” Customers who could turn him into a blushing mess were kind of the worst.

She gave him a flicker of a smile. “I’m good, thanks.” He watched as she wandered over to the back wall where most of the records were.

His shoulders slumping a little in relief he turned his attention to a new shipment that had come in this morning; trusting that if Peter or Lydia need him they’d let him know—the good thing about knowing your regulars was they couldn’t really steal from you.

Probably about a half an hour later, he was elbow deep in Son Lux and Snow Patrol and muttering faintly to himself about slippery plastic when he heard giggling. His head jerked up, trying to figure out where it had come from, wondering if someone had managed to sneak in without him noticing. But no it was still only Lydia and Peter in the shop, though they were closer to each other than they had been before, and Lydia’s shoulders were shaking; had she been the one who giggled?

Shrugging it off, if they wanted to flirt it was fine by him, just as long as they kept it flirting while they were in the store, he returned his attention to the CDs, double checking on the invoice to make sure he’d gotten exactly what he’d ordered.

Finishing off the CDs he moved onto the records someone had sold him earlier this afternoon, his head bobbing and lipsyncing to “Until the Night Turns” as he opened the first box.

Faintly he could hear Lydia speak, and Peter respond, chuckling at the end. It made Jordan frown at the Elvis Costello record currently in his hands. He wasn’t, jealous, just, it was weird having people flirt over  _ records _ ; and he found he had half a mind to snap at them to take it outside. But in his mind his mom raised her head, reminding him that rule number one with regulars was  _ never  _ to be rude to them, no matter what sort of day you were having.

So instead he set the records aside, he’d deal with them when he wasn’t in such a mood, and picked up a rag and the window cleaner—the front window had needed a good scrubbing down for a while now, honestly.

He picked his way through the memorabilia display to the window itself and spraying some of the cleaner on he started rubbing the rag against the glass, getting every, single, tiny, spot he saw.

Working with such single minded focus he didn’t realize Lydia was trying to get his attention until she practically shouted his name. He started, nearly knocking over the Yellow Submarine toy he remembered from his childhood, turned, and gaped.

Because somehow in the past, oh, twenty minutes, Lydia had managed to gain Peter’s jacket. Which, rightly so, swamped her and her floral dress. She’d had to roll up the sleeves to bare her hands, which were holding a record and a CD. “I’m ready to make my purchases.”

“Ri..right.” Gingerly he made his way back onto the floor and stomach roiling in way he’d rather not examine—nor was he going to put much stock in “Fool for Love” being the song currently playing—manned the register. “Find everything you were looking for?” He asked out of habit as he rang up her, huh, Lord Huron choices.

There was a strange light in Lydia’s eyes as she gave him what felt like a mischievous smile. “Not quite,” her gaze darted to Peter, who seemed awfully close, and clearly ready to pay for his own stuff. “But more than I thought I would.”

Well, Jordan couldn’t let that stand. “Anything specific you wanted? I could always do a special order.”

She pursed her lips, as if making a tough decision. “Well...maybe you could help. I was hoping to find something in the five ten to five eleven range, really nice personality, with the prettiest green eyes you ever did see.”

His mind stuttered and sputtered, taking far longer to realize what she was talking about. “I’m sorry what?” She  _ couldn’t _ , but, but, Peter’s coat?!

“You know,” Peter chimed in. “I was hoping to find that exact same thing myself.”

This, this was a dream, it had to be. He was fast asleep over his counter and probably being robbed blind by cheapskates and vagabonds. Reaching over he pinched his arm, and hissed as the pain flared. Hallucination maybe? Could you feel pain in a hallucination? “I...what...but…” His gaze flickered between the two of them; they were both still smiling but not as much as before, a hint of worry creeping in.

“Jordan?” Lydia’s hand came to rest on his forearm. “Are you alright?”

Like some sort of magic Peter seemed to appear on his other side. “We didn’t mean to...shock you,” he sounded bashful.

A laugh escaped Jordan. “I think I’m a bit more than shocked. What, what are you two trying to say?” Clarity, there needed to be clear, concise words.

Peter and Lydia shared a look. “Well,” Peter began. “We got to talking and realized we had something in common.”

“We both like you,” Lydia pipped in.

Taking a step back Jordan dislodged Lydia’s touch. “So what? You want me to choose? Now?” Because if so, he’d realized he’ll definitely say a strident ‘no’ and probably run the both of them out of his shop for being assholes, regulars or not.

“ No,” Jordan jumped at little at Peter’s voice, and again when the other man reached out and touched him. “Well not unless you  _ want  _ to choose.”

That mischievous look was back in Lydia’s eye. “We were thinking something a bit more, adventurous.” Jordan felt a blush heat his cheeks. “But only if you say yes,” Lydia quickly added.

Well at least they were giving him a choice. “I…” His gaze darted again. Having no real idea what to say or how to react. It wasn’t as if he’s been propositioned for a threesome by two customers who have never met before today before.

“Perhaps,” Peter leaned in over the counter. “A sample. I’ve been told you can find out quite a bit from a kiss.”

Jordan found himself swallowing convulsively. “O...okay.” He took his previous place, putting him and Peter even closer, close enough to kiss.

This close Peter’s eyes seemed dangerously blue, and little crowsfeet crinkled as the other man grinned. “Wonderful.”

And then Jordan was being kissed. It was more of a rush than he remembered it being.

When they broke apart Jordan felt like his whole world had been turned into a failed game of Perfection. Not that he had much of a chance to recover, because Lydia quickly took Peter’s metaphorical place—she’d couldn’t really lean over the counter like him and so had stepped behind it instead—grabbing him by the t-shirt and tugging him down for their kiss.

He’d also forgotten how different it was kissing guys vs. girls. Not in a bad way, just different.

There was a cat that got the canary smile on her face when she pulled away. “That was totally worth the wait.”

Jordan blushed again. Then surprising even himself he asked. “What...what about you two?” So apparently this was something he was into? His brain kind of felt haywire; but in a good way.

He watched as Lydia and Peter shared a look again, then Lydia was joining Peter at the front of the counter again; and Jordan’s jaw dropped a little as he watched Peter haul Lydia against him and up, kissing her like she was the only person in the world. Had his and Jordan’s kiss looked like that to Lydia?

It was also getting hard to ignore the fact that even if his mind was confused, his body seemed to know quite handily what it wanted; at least if the racing pulse and raging hard on was anything to go by.

He watch the two of them pull apart, Lydia panting as if she’d just sprinted a marathon, and Peter looking a smidge stunned himself.

“Well,” Lydia cleared her throat as she slid back down Peter. “I do believe that answered your question Jordan.”

“Yes,” Peter seemed extremely focused on straightening his shirt.

Jordan pretty much felt the same way.

 


	18. SW: TFA, Kylo/Finn, teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [Acanthafire](http://acanthafire.tumblr.com/) who asked: things you said through your teeth. Kylo Ren/Finn.

They break apart, Ren nearly grazing Finn’s arm with his lightsaber. It’s a shock to realize how heavily he’s breathing, especially compared to Ren. He knows Ren is better trained, and has more experience than him, but he won’t let that stop him from at least trying to hold Ren back.

“Let me _through_ ,” Ren hisses at him, teeth clenched in anger.  
  
Finn takes a deep breath, letting the Force flow through him, bringing calm with it. “No,” he states. He brings his own lightsaber up to a guard position and waits for Ren to charge.

-

Neither of them meant to crash on this planet, but it’s what happened. “Space,” he grits out as he slings Ren’s unconscious body over his shoulders, “you’re heavier than you look.” He can well imagine the look Ren would give him for that comment.

He can also imagine how annoyed Ren will be to find out Finn’s saved his life. Sure most of the Resistance would happily let Ren be, and let nature do what it would. But Finn is a Jedi, and he won’t let that happen, not when there’s still a chance to save Ren.

-

“This _isn’t_  funny,” beneath the fake smile Ben has plastered on his face Finn can see him almost grinding his teeth as Younglings practically clamber over him.

Finn bites back a smile of his own, “no, of course not.” 


	19. SW: TFA, Reylo, shared dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an anon who asked: Kylo and Rey's Force bond - a shared dream experience in which they see their future selves together.

Rey knows she’s dreaming—a perk of being a Jedi—but that doesn’t stop the slight confusion of recalling being in her bed then without warning walking down a road in a field, a man beside her.

Turning her head she looks at the man and gives a start when she realizes it’s Kylo Ren. “What?”

His own head turns, and she can see the shock flitting across his face before it vanishes, “you.” So he didn’t plan this, whatever’s happening is outside of their control.

In proof of this their bodies are still walking, even though Kylo is glaring vibro-blades at her, and possibly trying to move to attack her. He eventually gives up, “what are you playing at here,  _scavenger_?”

The insult barely stings. “I’m not playing at anything.” She answers bluntly. “Whatever this is will be just as unexpected for me as for you.” But she trusts that the Force has a reason for this shared dream, that they might both learn something important.

Kylo falls silent, although she can still feel annoyance and frustration coming off him as the field turns into a large town. Their bodies walk towards what looks, and sounds, like the market; so much more alive and bustling than any of her memories of Niima.

“Thief!” A merchant shouts, a cry quickly picked up by the others, and Rey sees the thief in question barreling towards her and Kylo.

Only for them, they're human but dressed so that she can’t tell the gender, to stop abruptly in their tracks. Eyes widening with sudden fear. The crowd in the market backs away, clearly not knowing what to make of this development. Until a man steps out of the crowd.

She looks at the man, then back to Kylo, then back to the man, finally back to Kylo. In time to see Kylo’s own eyes widen, and shock ripple from him through the Force.

Oh good, she’s not the only one who sees it.

Because this man is Kylo Ren, except he isn’t.

His hair is pulled back, making his scar stand out even more. Instead of Kylo’s usual black robes he’s dressed in dark browns and tans. But it is unmistakably Kylo.

“You know,” a woman— _her—_ also steps out of the crowd and past the other Kylo. “You really are going to have to teach me that trick some day.” This other Rey, with her hair bound back in a single bun and long lightsaber clipped to her belt, reaches the thief and quickly goes through their pockets.

Other!Kylo smiles. “And ruin the rhythm we’re building? Why would I do that?” Rey’s not sure if she should be paying attention to the scene before them, or Kylo’s reactions to it.

Other!Rey gives a satisfied nod when she finds the stolen goods in question and hands them over to a grateful merchant. Then she returns to the thief. “That was quite the steal, right out from under her nose. That takes special skill.”

The thief’s eyes dart, clearly not sure of how to take this turn.

“So,” other!Rey offers her hand. “How’d you like to stop being a thief and learn to be a Jedi instead.” The thief slumps as other!Kylo releases them, but shakily takes other!Rey’s hand.

Like that Rey is flung from the dream, her eyes open and she’s staring at the familiar stone ceiling of one of the huts. Outside she can hear rain as yet another storm passes over Luke’s island.

Pulling the covers back over herself she turns onto her side and finds herself smiling as she falls back into sleep. _There’s still hope for you Kylo Ren._

-

The moment he wakes his lightsaber is in hand and he’s launching himself at the nearest wall, sparks and shards of plasteel flying everywhere as he lets the rage out.

When it subsides his chest is heaving, and his mind still hasn’t fully accepted what he’d seen in the dream.

Across all distance and time he feels the bright pulse of Rey through the Force. Baring his teeth he snarls. “No,” he snaps. “You will not sway me.” This _is_  his path.


	20. Haven, Nathan/Audrey, art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cigarettes-coffee-and-no-sleep on Tumblr prompted: “Somehow my gallery sculpture piece looks exactly like you how weird” AU I picked Haven and went a little Nathan/Audrey with it

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Nathan groused as he stared out the tiny window in the door at the milling crowd in the gallery.

Behind him Duke sighed, then Nathan found himself turned around as his best friend gave him another once over. “You were the one who wanted to do more art stuff Nate,” he watched Duke’s hands come up and adjust the fall of his jacket. “You do more art stuff, you’re more likely to get noticed which means meet and greets. So it’s kind of your own fault.”

“You didn’t have to encourage me.” Nathan was pretty sure that was actually complaining, but at the moment, with anxious nerves chewing up his insides he didn’t really care.

“Like you needed encouragement, just remember after this it’s gonna be you, me, the _Rouge_ , and all the beer and fish we can stand for a whole weekend.” A testament to what good friends they were—the other was the fact that when Nathan asked if he could sketch Duke naked the response he got was: “yeah, sure. Just not on Tuesday, Bill and Jeff want me to oversee the new chef.”

“You can do this Nate,” Duke’s voice had a more serious note to it as he looked Nathan in the eye.

Nathan nodded, “thanks.” He took a deep breath as he reached for the door, what was the worst that could happen after all? He’d already made more money tonight than he’d ever expected to, so really as far as he was concerned it could only go uphill from there.

-

Biting back a sigh Audrey pushed some hair that had escaped her updo behind her ear.

“Try not to look so bored Parker,” Tommy’s amused voice came from right next to her. “You’re gonna scare off all the nice people.”

With a roll of her eyes she turned to him. “I thought it was a good thing to look bored at these things, aloof hipsters and all that jazz.” Gratefully she accepted a champagne flute.

Tommy—longtime partner and good friend—snorted, “they don’t actually _advertise_ themselves as that. Anyways I hear the artist’s a pretty down to earth sorta guy.” When he’d first brought up the fact that he’d gotten tickets to this little showing she’d been hesitant to agree.

Then she remembered her therapist Claire getting on her case a little about focusing only on work and how she should at least try to do more socializing with ‘non’ work people. While it was true she’d gone with Tommy Audrey still counted this as a ‘non’ work function—although she wished it was winter and Tommy’d offered her a hockey ticket if she was honest. So she’d agreed to go, dressing up and everything.

Still she didn’t get why some people were looking at her and staring, only to turn away when she caught them and whispering among each other.

It was getting to the point where she was about to march up to someone and demand to know what was going on when the gallery curator called their attention to her. “Thank you all for coming, and thank you all for making _Portraits of a Small Town_ as popular as it’s become. Now I’d like to introduce you to the artist of the hour: Nathan Wuornos.”

There was a smattering of applause as a tall, handsome, and faintly blushing man took the space the curator had been seconds before. “Uh, thank you all for coming. I certainly didn’t expect my work to be as popular as it is.” Polite laughter rippled through the room, although Audrey expected that that wasn’t actually a ‘joke’. “And I thank you all for coming and supporting and buying my work. Uh, so thanks again...and enjoy.”

Audrey wouldn’t have thought it possible for someone that tall to shrink and disappear, but he managed it pretty well, seemingly latching himself to the side of a man about as tall as him who looked much more rakish and at ease.

“You know there’re people staring at your right?” Tommy’s voice drew her back to herself.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know.” She was one of the FBI’s best detectives—alongside Audrey Parker, and they had a good laugh over the fact that the Boston division managed to hire _two_ women named Audrey Parker without even knowing it, although to be fair she only went by Audrey—if she didn’t notice she wouldn’t hear the end of it. “Wanna help me find out why?”

He snorted, “I thought we were supposed to be relaxing? Taking in some ‘culture’.”

Looping her arm through his she sniggered. “Relaxing’s for suckers. Come on.”

It only took them one sweep to find out why, and it wasn’t even because they asked someone. Not when the reason was three feet tall and given a place of honor on a wall.

The cynical part of Audrey had something to say about the fact that she’d been immortalized on canvas while in her _gym_ clothes. It was...weird, and vaguely discomfiting.

But she couldn’t deny that it was a good painting, one that captured a warm and relaxed mood of unfettered joy.

But seriously, _her gym clothes_.

Tommy was wisely saying nothing, but she didn’t doubt the FBI rumor mill would be abuzz over this tomorrow.

Plastering the nicest smile she could she let go of Tommy. “I’ll be right back.”

He sighed. “Go easy on the guy Parker, for my sake?”

“Do my best,” but she wouldn’t make any promises. She didn’t _intend_ to chew the guy out, but well, sometimes things like this had a habit of getting away from her. Her mom called it a gift, and dad just said that was mom being nice.

-

Nathan found himself finally relaxing, at least a tad. It helped that Duke stuck close, and that he’d gotten some champagne into him. His shoulders slumped a little as the latest group of critics and enthusiasts drifted off. “How much longer do we need to stay?”

“An hour at least,” Duke responded, making Nathan groan. “Chin up, it’s almost over.” Yeah, _almost_. He saw Duke’s eyes widen slightly and braced himself. “Uh oh. She doesn’t look pleased.” Great, an _unhappy_ enthusiast, his eyes darted around for the curator, hoping that she’d be able to help out, but no such luck. “And does she look familiar to you?”

Finally biting the bullet Nathan turned around, and gaped.

Familiar? You could say that. If by ‘familiar’ you meant the subject of his second most popular painting.

Taking their last few seconds of solitude Nathan muttered, “ _Sunlight and Repose_ ,” grateful for Duke’s surprised “shit”.

Then she was there. “You painted me.”

Which was true. And he probably should have gotten her permission to do so, although he’d quickly learned things like that were a gray area in the art world. Still, it would’ve been the right thing to do, and it gnawed at his police sensibility that he hadn’t. Especially now that he’d been ‘caught’.

“Yes?” Shit, why’d he have to make it sound like a question? He hoped Duke would come up with some way to get them out of this. Except when he turned his head to shoot Duke a panicked look the other man wasn’t there, traitor.

When he turned back to her she looked less angry, but she still had her eyes narrowed at him, like she was looking for something. “Why? And why me in my _gym clothes_?”

He blinked at her, not quite sure why she was upset about _that_ . “Because you were happy,” he answered honestly. “And the lighting was just right when you fell onto that bench that you looked like you were glowing and…” He drifted off, pretty sure he was blushing profusely. It felt worse somehow that he was babbling to _her_ , than when he babbled at everyone else here. Although to be fair besides Duke she was the only other ‘model’ here.

“Oh,” her eyes became less intense and her posture relaxed slightly, but he felt certain she wasn’t going to let up. “I’m still not sure how I feel about that, especially since it’s got a _sold_ sticker next to it.”

Without really thinking about it he found himself shaking his head. “Oh, no, I’m not selling it. But the curator said that ‘not for sale’ signs wouldn’t stop offers from coming in, so she put sold stickers next to it.” She’d done the same thing with his _Prometheus_ studies—the ones he’d done of Duke—for the same reason; although that hadn’t stopped a few people approaching him offering to ‘top’ the buyer.

“Why aren’t you selling it?” First she was angry about him painting it, and now she was angry because he wasn’t selling it? Nathan took a deep breath.

“Because I don’t want to, it’s...more personal.” The day he’d taken the photo that he’d based the painting on he’d not really been himself, a ‘funk’ as Duke would’ve called it. But seeing her flopping onto that park bench, waving a hand and laughing as her running partner went over to a coffee cart? It had been...wonderfully transporting. Nobody else who saw it got that feeling, not like he did every time he saw it.

He didn’t want someone to buy it and not understand what it meant, how it affected him.

So he’d be keeping it, and once this show was over it’d go right back to it’s spot in his studio.

Her head tilted, like he’d said something interesting. Part of him hoped he hadn’t been babbling all that out loud, because that would have been _mortifying_.

-

Well Tommy certainly hadn’t been lying when he said the guy was ‘down to earth’, she just hadn’t expected that to mean ‘easily embarrassed and bashful’. It was kinda cute; it didn’t hurt that he was managing to stand up for himself, she wasn’t the harshest person in the FBI, but she’d certainly left a few people crying after some interrogations. “What if I want it?” It escaped her without her say so, the words just bypassing her brain and going straight to her mouth.

Wuornos did a good fish impression for a few seconds, then rubbed the back of his neck out of what she was going to assume was nervousness. “Well, uh, I guess if you wanted it you could have it. I mean I did do it without your permission.”

Wow, that was, quite sweet. And unexpected. Enough that she shook her head. “No, no. That’s fine, I mean…” she cut herself off, if she wasn’t careful she was going to make a fool of herself. “I guess if no one’s really going to see it, that’s fine.” Still it was weird to think that someone had _painted_ her, and spent hours of time and effort to do so. Now that she’d discovered how...passionate he was about it she found it kind of flattering; especially since it was clear he hadn’t done it to be a creep.

“Oh,” wow his ears were _pink_ , she didn’t really think that was possible. “Thanks, I mean…” But before he could continue a man, the roguish one—who she now knew looked like naked and _wow_ that was weird—crashed their little bubble.

“Sorry to interrupt,” of course he was. “Curruthers wanted to talk to you, something about packing up _Carver_?”

The look in Wuornos’ eye had even her believing the guy’s story for a moment, but only a moment. “Well it was nice talking to you…?”

“Audrey,” she found herself biting back a smile. She let Wuornos scurry off, unsurprisingly finding herself being examined by his rogue of a friend. “Yes?” She arched an eyebrow.

The man huffed. “Oh just surprised that Nathan’s painting didn’t do you justice.”

She laughs, too amused to be offended. “Don’t get to use that line often do you?”

“Not trying to pick you up,” his smile had an air of bemusement to it, “just stating a fact.” Well then.

“Duke!” Wow, Wuornos could shout.

Mr. Rogue, who she assumed was the aforementioned ‘Duke’—a name that certainly fit—turned his head. “Well looks like I’m being summoned. It was nice to finally meet you in the flesh.” Without waiting for a response he dashed off.

“You left both of them standing?” Tommy teased when she returned to him. “Should I be worried? You losing your touch Parker?”

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “No, I don’t think you’ve got to worry, they were nice guys.”

“And now I’m wondering if I should call that reporter friend of yours, tell her to stop the presses. You think they’re _nice_?”

“Shut up,” she gave him a friendly shove. “You’re worse than McMillan and Jones,” and nobody gossiped like those two. “Come on, let’s go.” Setting her flute on an open table they headed to the coat check.

As they walked out into the warm Boston evening Audrey turned over the show program, studying the artist bio. “Hey Bowen? You any idea how much vacation time I’ve got?”

He snorted. “At a guess I’d say a million, I don’t think you’ve even taken a sick day. Kind of scary if I’m honest Parker.” Wuss. “Dare I ask?”

“Pretty sure you just did,” she points out. “But just thinking I should take some. You ever been up to Maine?”

“I’m not touching that question. Whatever you do in your free time’s in no way my business. Unless someone ends up dead, which would be a shame,” he raised his arm to hail a taxi. “Cause you’re kinda a decent partner.”

She fluttered her eyelashes at him, even if he couldn’t see it. “You like me, you really like me.” She grinned when he laughed. “But seriously, I think I should just kick back, relax in a nice sleepy town, really veg.” If that was what actually would _happened_ was up for debate.

Tommy side-eyed her. “Parker, you wouldn’t last two days doing that.”

“Is that a bet?”

“Damn straight it is. You’d be chomping at the bit after a day of ‘vegging’, you are a woman of action Parker, if you’re not in the thick of it you’ll damn well try to be.” She would protest, but Tommy was right. “Hell you just told me like an hour ago relaxing was for suckers.”

“I’ll take that bet.” A little town like Haven couldn’t be _too_ much of a hotbed; but it would certainly be nice to meet Wuornos on his home territory. See if he got just as flustered there as he did here. She’d find out how things went from there.


	21. TW, Pydian, All!Human shop AU 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So catvampcrazines‘s been craving some Pydian, and when prompted for a prompt (heh) she gave me ‘sleepover’.
> 
> Full disclosure I actually started this thing over a year ago...Cat’s prompt just finally gave me the ending it was looking for...
> 
> sequel to chapter 17 in this collection.

Jordan did find himself feeling nervous as he, Peter, and Lydia made their way up to Peter’s apartment. They might have been, well... _dating_ , he guesses, for a month or so now. But, it still feels so weird to him.

But they’ve been to Jordan’s house twice, and at least they were polite enough not to mention the various projects he had laying around half-finished, and Lydia’s once, for all the money he thinks she takes in—when he’d finally asked what she did she proudly proclaimed that by day she was a mathematician, but by night she worked at a perfume company—her place was tiny; though the bed was, ah, almost excessively massive.

Still, Peter’s _building_ so far is far nicer than his and her’s places combined. So, nerves, because this is pretty much the nicest place Jordan’s ever been in—well not including some of the restaurants Peter’s taken them to.

Finally they reach the top floor, and _of course_ Peter would have the penthouse, and Peter’s pulling out his keyring and opening the door.

At first glance the place looks like it came out of one of those modern design magazines—the ones his little sister ate up like candy, and oh god how was she going to react when she found out about his current love life when she came back from college?—lots of white with ‘bold’ splashes of color and lots of shiny surfaces.

While it’s unexpected compared to Peter’s usual mode of dress—he’s kind of half and half today, nice slacks but a v-neck showing off those tattoos of his—the fact that there’s punk music, with a woman scream-singing about how straight America won’t ruin her, is pretty much expected.

And although it’s been expected from what Peter’s told them, it’s still weird to hear: “I’m home!”

“Daddy!”

A few seconds later there’s a young girl barreling towards them, her golden brown hair flying behind her as she runs. She leaps, and manages to get herself around Peter’s side. She’s wearing a little plaid shirt and cutoff shorts, and okay, she’s adorable. He looks at Lydia who looks a little misty eyed; she meets his gaze and grins at him, miming squeezing.

“Hey pumpkin, you managed to survive without me I see,” Peter smiles, and it’s _adorable_ , as he lifts up an arm, the girl easily grabs into it and dangles. Jordan pouts at Lydia, because this seriously isn’t fair—Peter’d told them he had a daughter, he hadn’t said she was lethally cute—and she bites back a giggle.

She swings her legs, “Course I did. Phi, phi!” She calls out deeper into the apartment.

And another young girl appears, she looks about the same age as Peter’s daughter, but her hair’s darker, and shorter, and she looks more serious. “Hey cousin Peter.” She comes up and hugs his torso and he ruffles her hair. Jordan’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed that Peter doesn’t have _two_ kids—then again Peter’d said he only had _a_ daughter, and Jordan would think he wouldn’t lie about that.

“Hey Sophie, where’s your dad?”

“Studying, he’s got a big test tomorrow.” Jordan’s willing to admit that he kind of loves serious kids.

Peter turns his head to them and rolls his eyes. “You want to get him?”

Sophie nods and dashes off towards the staircase.

Peter’s daughter clearly noticed her dad’s head turn, because she quickly turns around—impressive considering she’s using her dad like a jungle gym—and stares at him and Lydia. “Hi.”

“Malia,” Peter starts actually walking to the apartment—and Jordan regrets being turned on by easy shows of strength—still carrying Malia on his arm. “These are Jordan and Lydia, My boyfriend and girlfriend. Remember?” Peter’s bluntness at introducing them is surprising, but Malia doesn’t seem phased—clearly Peter’d had told her about them as well—more focused on swinging herself up onto Peter’s shoulder.

“Hi Malia,” Lydia steps up to Peter’s back and offers her hand to the little girl.

Malia gives Lydia’s hand a solemn shake. “Hi, I like your hair.” Apparently tonight is going to be chalk full of adorable.

“Thank you Malia, I like your shirt.”

Jordan, not wanting to fall behind—in any fashion—joins them. “Hi Malia.”

She turns her attention to him. “Hi. One of the girls in my class is named Jordan, but she’s a girl.”

“It’s a popular name,” Jordan responds with a nod.

Before anymore conversation can be had the older, scruffier, and taller male version of Sophie is coming down the stairs, backpack over his shoulder and Sophie trailing behind. “Hey Peter.”

“Derek, thanks for watching Malia.”

Derek shrugs, “not a problem.” He smiles. “She was very well behaved. And you know how much Sophie likes to hang out with her.”

Jordan’s in just the right spot to see Peter narrow his eyes as he turns to look at Malia. “Were you? Well that doesn’t sound like my coyote daughter at all.” He gives his shoulder a shake and she laughs as she clings to him.

“I was!” Malia gets out between giggles. She moves again, wrapping her legs around Peter’s shoulder and dropping so she’s hanging upside down. “Bye Phi Phi! Bye cousin Dare!”

Sophie and Derek say their goodbyes and soon it’s just the four of them. “So Malia,” Peter sounds playful as he turns around and looks at him and Lydia. “Do you think these people are good enough to have dinner with us.” At least Jordan can tell he’s joking, he glances at Lydia and is grateful she seems to catch on as well.

Malia narrows her eyes in a Peter-like way and looks at them, still upside down. “I don’t know daddy,” Malia giggles. “Do they like mac and cheese?”

Jordan’s pretty sure this night is going to kill him as he crouches down so he’s ‘eye level’ with Malia. “Well it’s certainly been awhile since I’ve had it, but I liked it the last time I did.” Back in the money pinching days of just starting to manage the store.

“It’s my favorite,” Lydia declares, with only a little bit of insincerity—which Jordan completely understands.

“They can stay.” Malia declares seriously.

Peter smiles again. “Well that’s good, because I quite happen to like them. Now,” his other hand comes out and grabs Malia’s waist pulling her upright. “What do we want to listen to while you and I make dinner.”

“Thunderbitch!” Malia crows as she scrambles down Peter’s side. “I wanna grow up, to wear a leather jacket!” She sings, and dear god, Jordan kind of wonders if she has her own vine account or something.

“Now Malia,” Peter says patiently, with an affectionate huff. “You know guests get to pick the music.”

Malia pouts, but nods. Dashing towards the impressive music stereo setup and detaching an Ipod player, cutting off the current stream of music.

“Come on Jordan,” he starts when Lydia takes his arm, she smiles up at him. “Let’s put our filthy, dirty mitts all over Peter’s pristine music.”

He flushes, because who knew Lydia was so filthy minded—well, okay, he kind of already knew, but that was different—and lets himself be dragged as Peter laughs behind them.

Peter’s music collection is impressive, and well organized. It’s mostly records, surprise surprise, but there’s an impressive CD shelf as well. Mostly Nine Inch Nails and Trent Reznor’s more recent stuff—both things he hadn’t thought Peter would be into, but if he thinks about it it totally makes sense—but there’s some of the more recent Nirvana stuff and a few more kid-oriented looking ones as well.

Lydia however, goes straight for the records, flipping through them in movements smooth with long practice. “Beatles, Hendrix, Holiday, Simone...Peter, you’re losing your reputation.” Lydia calls out as she starts going through the records a second time, much slower this time.

“Nonsense!” Peter calls out from the kitchen, where Jordan can here Malia chatting away over the sound of something sizzling in a pan. “I’m well rounded!”

“I’m sure you mean Lydia’s well rounded,” Jordan calls back. Lydia blushes and smacks his shoulder.

“Horrible man, see if you get a goodnight kiss when we leave,” she chastises as she pulls out Beck’s _Mellow Gold_.

He pouts and flutters his eyelashes at her. “I’ll be good.”

“Mmm, I’ll bet you will,” she gives him a wicked smile—and now he’s the one blushing—as she loads up the record and soon “Loser” fills the room.

They enter the kitchen to see Malia and Peter sitting and standing, respectively, in front of a pot on the stove, which Malia is stirring. Peter gestures towards his fridge when he sees them. “There’re about a million things to drink in the fridge, or you can mix yourself a drink if you want to brave the liquor cabinet.”

Feeling a little strange, it’s always weird when you’re told to help yourself in an unknown house, Jordan opens up the fridge and after much indecision—he’s never been much of a microbrew guy and that’s all Peter really has—settles on a lager. Lydia wiggles past him and snatches an orange cream soda—it had been a bit of a shock to realize she was still a few months away from her twenty first.

As he closes the fridge door and steps back towards the center Peter’s eyes glint. “Oh good,” all Jordan can do is frown at the odd statement before Peter reaches out and snatches up his beer. “Excellent choice, now what are you going to have?”

Behind him he hears Lydia struggle not to laugh, but all he does is narrow his eyes, at least for a moment before snatching his beer right back. “See if I give _you_ a goodnight kiss later,” he responds with a haughty sniff as he twists off the cap.

“Hey,” Lydia gives him a light shove. “That’s my thing.”

Peter sniggers at the both of them, at least until Malia reaches out and gives him a hard poke. “Time for the milk daddy.”

So Peter adds more milk than Jordan would think necessary for mac and cheese—not that he’s ever made it from ‘scratch’ like this—and Malia stops her stirring, but still watching the pot with all the intensity of a child.

“So Malia,” Lydia takes a seat at one of the bar stools, her feet kicking slightly as she rotates the seat around. “What do you like to do?” She shoots Peter a reproachful glare, because while they knew he had a daughter, neither of them have any idea what she likes, besides apparently sharing her dad’s taste in music.

Malia smiles brightly at her as Jordan takes a seat next to Lydia. “I like rock climbing, and hiking, and this month daddy said I could try fencing and I’m _excited_.” She even bounces in her seat a little at her own words.

Jordan hides a smile behind his bottle. “Is that something you’ve been interested in then?”

“Yeah!” Her eyes glance at the pot of now boiling milk and some other things Jordan can’t quite make out. “Daddy, can I add the pasta?”

“Carefully,” Peter tells her, opening a beer of his own and taking a sip.

“I wanna do fencing so I can be a Musketeer when I grow up.” Malia chatters enthusiastically as she begins stirring again after adding the pasta. “I’ll get to wear a cool hat and rescue pretty ladies, and have _adventures_.”

“So you like Dumas then?” Lydia asks.

Malia gives an enthusiastic nod, “Daddy’s been reading them to me every night! We’re on the _Corsican Brothers_.”

Lydia presses her shoulder against his and Jordan knowing a cue when he feels one wraps an arm around her shoulder, it does feel weird with an ‘audience’ like Malia, but he guess with time that strange feeling will pass. Turning his head slightly he kisses her temple, because he damn well _can_.

He feels Lydia’s shoulders shake with laughter, and he gives the one his hand’s resting on a squeeze, see how _she_ felt in his situation.

Peter’s smile is fond as he watches them and Jordan feels warm contentment curling in his belly. “Malia can you get the cheeses and the bacon.”

Chees _es?_ And bacon? Jordan wonders if he should be worried about this mac and cheese producing reactions not fit for children. Also who the hell needed more than one cheese? Peter apparently.

“Take deep breaths,” Lydia whispers in his ear. “I’m almost afraid you’re going to have a panic attack.”

He closes his eyes and does, if his jitters are _that_ bad he definitely needs to listen. Then again this whole evening isn’t going at all like he expected it too, so he’s got a bit of a right. He kisses her temple again. “Thanks.”

Jordan opens his eyes just in time to see Peter and Malia sprinkle what looks like _breadcrumbs_ on top of the mac and cheese and Jordan’s certain he’s eaten less fancy food in some of the places Peter’s treated them too.

“Go set the table Malia,” Peter nudges her with his knee as he puts the pot in the oven, the broiler red hot.

Malia vanishes and Peter saunters over to them, his shoulder bumping Jordan’s as he once again steals Jordan’s beer. “You’re holding up well.”

Lydia reaches across him and jabs Peter in the chest. “More warning and information would be better next time,” she doesn’t sound angry exactly, but her words clearly don’t leave room for argument. “Anything else you’d like to share?”

“Sorry,” Peter actually sounds bashful, something Jordan didn’t think was possible. “It’s kind of hard to explain Malia though,” setting down Jordan’s beer he snags Lydia’s hand and kisses her fingertips, doof. “And what do you think Jordan?”

Jordan gives himself a mental shake. “I think she’s far more adorable than she has any right to be,” he responds honestly. “Although I’m kind of with Lydia on this one.”

Like he’d done with Lydia Peter leans in and kisses Jordan’s temple. “Well I’ll try to do better. I can start right now even,” something like a mischievous grin crosses Peter’s face. “Malia’s dragging me to the local animal shelter to adopt a cat, or possibly a rabbit, she’s not sure. Although I managed to put my foot down and say we’re only adopting _one_ animal.”

Both he and Lydia share a glance and find themselves laughing. But before Peter can even say a, probably playfully biting, retort the timer goes off.

“Dinner!” Malia crows, although there’s no one else that needs to be told.

Still no one can doubt her enthusiasm.

The mac and cheese is better than any other Jordan’s had before, and he’s pretty sure he’s now ruined for mac and cheese for life. And dinner as a whole passes by in a pleasant blur. The music changes from Beck to The National, Malia managed to wrangle them all into a game of Forbidden Desert—and yeah, Peter’s not walking out of that shelter with less than _two_ animals—he drinks a few more beers, of which Peter steals about half of. Lydia, despite not touching a drop of alcohol, seems to get contact drunk; or perhaps she’s just feeling more affectionate than normal.

All in all it’s a wonderful evening and Jordan finds he doesn’t want it to end.

They’re curled up on the couch now, watching Some Like it Hot—Jordan’s choice. Malia’d been put to bed and Jordan’s half convinced Peter’s suggestion of a movie was more to get them to stay longer than a real desire to watch a movie together.

Not that Jordan minds. Peter’s side is a pretty comfortable place to curl up against, Lydia sprawled happily over both their laps. “Peter,” Lydia’s fingers pluck at the sleeves of Peter’s shirt absently as, on screen, Sugar tries to get a reaction out of ‘Junior’. “Is there something you want to ask us?”

To try and stifle his laughter Jordan buries his face in Peter’s shoulder, his grip on Lydia’s calves tightening slightly. Even if he’s not quite sure what she might be talking about.

“Why do I have the feeling you’re ganging up on me?” Peter sounds more amused than angry about it.

“Because Lydia’s decided we have,” Jordan responds, voice muffled by Peter’s shoulder.

Lydia’s foot jabs his side. “Traitor,” she says sweetly. “But I’m right,” her absent plucking has turned to absent doodling on Peter’s chest. And Jordan’s certain if they’re not careful they’re liable to just fall on each other _here_ , which would come to bite them in the ass come morning.

Peter laughs softly, slouching even further in the couch so that he can nuzzle Lydia and Jordan without turning his head. “Alright, maybe I want you to stay the night. On purpose,” they all share smiles—usually ‘sleepovers’ happened by accident. Trying to do it purposefully is something else.

So Peter asking, even with Lydia’s prompting, is kind of a big deal.

“Alright,” it’s easy to agree, considering he doesn’t want to leave. He turns his head and places a kiss on Peter’s throat, the other man hums appreciatively.

Lydia does too, and Jordan finds himself hoping the walls here are soundproofed, or that Malia doesn’t get nightmares. “Definitely. Give me a reason to steal one of your shirts too.”

“Then perhaps,” Peter’s voice dropped to a delicious rumble. “We should go back to my bedroom, I dare say my bed’s at least as big as Lydia’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thunderbitch is a real band, the song Malia sings part of is “Leather Jacket”
> 
> And the band Malia’s playing when they first come in is G.L.O.S.S (Girls Living Outside Society's Shit), the song is "Lined Lips and Spiked Bats”

**Author's Note:**

> You want to give me a prompt, you totally can! Just come and [drop it off in my ask](http://kaelthewriting.tumblr.com/ask). I'll do anon if you don't have a Tumblr (or just want it anon) and if you have an AO3 let me know in the ask.


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